Endgames
by Paladar
Summary: Janeways reflections on a relationship that ended before it began, and the web of emotions spun between herself, her First Officer, and her protégé. A vision of a future that might or might not happen, and an Admiral's parting gift.
1. Day

I didn't expect it to hurt so much. If anything I had anticipated a certain uneasiness, a time of transition. Nothing we hadn't faced before. I think I never realized how many things would change. How many things I'd be missing. How much time we really spent together, how much I had come to rely on his presence.

He excused himself right after we had finished work, completed the last reports. Politely, kind. He always is. But tonight this kindness has almost been my undoing and I still don't know how I found the strength to tell him goodnight.

Had I known what was about to come afterwards, I'd probably instructed Tuvok that I did not want to be disturbed under any circumstances. I'd have gone to bed and pulled the covers closely around me. Protectively, as I do almost every night. Knowing that it is an illusion I should have given up long ago. There is no protection in this part of the galaxy, there is no protection in love and war.

But after he left I went back to work, taking next week's duty roster with me. Anything to keep my mind busy. Busy with work. When my door chime rang I answered it immediately. Looking forward to any distraction it might bring, even if it was something as exhausting as another engineering catastrophe. Honestly, I never expected it to be him.

He must have been standing in the doorway for quite some time, before I was finally able to find a coherent thought and a steady voice to call him in. Desperately wishing for something as grave as a Borg attack. But of course nothing happened. Life in this quadrant is seldom kind.

He looked a little worried, nervous even. Which told me plainly what was about to come. Unconsciously I steeled myself for battle, squared my shoulders, straightened my back. Found my arms crossed in front of my chest. Something that didn't go unnoticed by him. He knows me as well as I do him. Or so I thought until a week ago. The reason he is here tonight - I never saw it coming.

I motion him over to the couch and we sit down. My arms are still crossed tightly because I can't think of any other way to stop my hands from trembling. He isn't exactly relaxed either, but determined. Oh yes, that's something else he can be. In a much more subtle way than I am, I suppose, but nevertheless. He is a man of strong believes, and ready to put his life on the line for them. An integer, caring man. Ready to give his life for the people he cares about.

When I look at him I suddenly know that this is probably one of the reasons that created his relationship with Seven. He still is the Angry Warrior whose heart finds peace in fighting the battles for somebody else, in being needed. Something I have more and more denied him over the years, perhaps because he told me about it. Perhaps because I knew that it would eventually tell him to move on. Something I never could.

I rather fight my own battles, inside and outside. I don't want the responsibility of constantly giving someone the feeling of being needed. And the Delta Quadrant has only served to hone my independency. My loneliness as well, but all that time I had considered it a small price to pay. It served to keep me going, fueled my efforts to bring this ship home. I never realized that what Chakotay had tried to tell me so many times, was true. I have never been truly alone. Even if it sometimes felt like it.

Now I know better. In just a few weeks I learnt what it meant to be alone. And I don't think I have ever felt more lonely before. A captain's fate? I don't think so anymore. No, this is the road I chose to take, and I don't want the pity I've detected in the eyes of some. Nor the compassion I know I'll find in his eyes. Along with a deep sadness. Not for us, but for me.

He knows I have spent all the previous evenings on my own. Went to the messhall alone. Even my holodeck appointments with Seven are non-existent now. And probably will be until her excitement over a newly found discovery has dissipated a bit. Yes, Seven is on a quest for love. Like a teenager, really, not bothering with much discretion, although Chakotay has tried to keep their relationship private so far.

I should be happy for Seven. Proud that the seed I planted against all odds is finally flourishing. Opening its petal in a beautiful, touching way. Happy that the Angry Warrior, who has given so much of his life to me, finally gets something in return. Gets to share the joy and the deep contentment of a heart at peace. So why do I feel like a woman who has just found out that her lover is sleeping with her... niece? Well, the laugh's on me, and it's nothing but cynic bitterness that floods my tongue, when I try to make it sound.

It's disgusting, it's uncalled for, and it's humiliating. And looking at him, I only fear that he can read it all in my eyes. And there's nothing, not even the knowledge that I have absolutely no rights here, that keeps my shame at bay.

How I can be so selfish is beyond me. I thought I could handle this with grace, with respect to two people I love, but apparently this is as much an illusion as anything else. There is no excuse for my behavior, and if our friendship will not survive this it's because of me, not because he fell in love with Seven.

I could not speak if my entire life depended on it. And I have a strange feeling that it does. So I reach for the next PADD lying on the table, and type in a few words, almost blindly, saying that I'm sorry, that I just hope he knows I am happy for them. And without looking I push it over to him.

He will understand, I'm sure, but that doesn't make it right. Just one more time where I'm the one who takes, he's the one to give.


	2. Night

When she opened her eyes she noticed that the sheets were on the floor. Funny that she hadn't noticed it before. She knew she had to be cold, but she didn't feel cold. She didn't feel anything. She had no idea how much time had passed or how and when she must have discarded them.

It did not help to open her eyes again. Open or closed, she would see the same images, over and over again. Slow motion, zoomed in, closed-up, pinned-up pictures. Over and over again. Like a cheap trash movie haunting her from out of time.

Nothing had helped so far, and she had the disquieting feeling that there was nothing that would. The doors of her quarters were now decorated with rivulets of cold coffee, slowly trailing into the carpet. Glass was shattered on the floor, sparkling with reflections of passing stars. A pile of unread reports had found its way crashing into the wall separating their quarters, and she knew that some of them would be useless now. Additional work for those crewmembers who'd have to write them again.

She knew she would care tomorrow when she'd stopped seeing the images. She knew she would be angry that he could do this to her in the end. After seven years of trying to deny this, it had finally slapped her in the face. Twice. And she didn't know which stroke hurt the most or angered her more than the other.

It should have been the right choice. In all those seven years no crewmember ever had to redo his work because she had been distracted by him. Distracted by his love and his lust. Her love and her lust. Distracted because she kept seeing images of him in slow motion. And seven years of pretending should have made it the right choice, real, immutable and irrevocable.

That's why she had set the parameters on narrow margins. Margins that would not allow the existence of anything that could cause images to form in her head. And she had expected him to follow the rules as they had moved along their path. And if he didn't, she would always have the liberty to feel angry about it. Enough anger to keep the images at bay.

If she had been able to feel anything, she would feel cheated now. He had obeyed all the rules, never once overstepped the boundaries. But then without any warning he had left the path. He had simply chosen another one. Out of her reach and her parameters. Unfortunately not out of sight.

And the view could not have been better. Front row seats with magnifying 3-D glasses, free entry guaranteed. And she had been gloriously unprepared for the assault. Unprepared for the flood of images invading her mind, fueling long suppressed imagination and sending it to overload. All she could see was creamy white skin writhing under tanned fingers, blond hair spilling over black. All she could hear was his name coming out of her beautiful mouth. Like it would have come out of hers.

Closing her eyes again to stop the tears that came with the images, she felt that life had betrayed her. Failing to tell her that in the end denial was as powerful as acknowledgment would have been. Leading to the same results.

Maybe she would cry herself to sleep after all. But she would leave the sheets on the floor.


	3. Visions

I am happy.

It is boldly written in reddish-brown lipstick across the mirror of my bathroom. I can read it clearly while I'm trying to get ready for the five year reunion party tonight. While I'm desperately trying to care what dress I'm going to wear, and to put on some make-up.

But I keep looking at the proverbial writing on the wall. Shaky writing. Written in a fit of what? Rage, anger, scorn? I'm not sure I even have the energy for such emotions anymore. Maybe it's a glimpse of the pent-up sadness and the selfdeprivation that is stored deep inside of me. That is kept down by a thick layer of dullness, strength of will to not feel anything anymore. Least of all happy.

I should concentrate on the make-up. Conceal the dark circles under my eyes. Disguise whatever I have become and try to restore the Captain.

Maybe, if they don't serve synthenol only, I'll even forget I'm not the Captain anymore. If just for tonight. I can't let this crew down. There are loyal, even to this day.

The Captain can deal with this party tonight. Kathryn can't.

I am happy. It is written across the black silk dress I've finally decided to wear. It is written across the too thin figure I see in the mirror. The Captain never looked like this. But the Captain had friends looking out for her, some in particular, making sure she was all right. Telling her she was not alone.

There is nobody there to look out for Kathryn. Not anymore. And believe me, in five years I've learnt what it means to be alone.

Not that I don't do my job, not that I don't work. After five years I'm still occupied with all the data Voyager brought home. There wasn't exactly time during the war, and I was assigned on a space mission almost right away. My choice, and I've never regretted it. That's what keeps me going. A mission, the responsibilities of having an entire crew serving under me.

I just never wanted the responsibility for a single person. A single heart, looking at me for peace.

I have friends, many friends, acquaintances, business relations. A dog. But I don't have a family anymore.

My mother died a year after we made it back and Phoebe lives far away now, rebuilding one of the regained Federation Colonies. So are Mark and his wife, his children.

I sometimes find myself calling Q, asking for my godchild. He has not answered so far.

The Voyager crew is still my family. But I try to avoid seeing them without being too obvious about it. It hurts too much. Every member of my former crew, every life, every story they tell reminds me of what I had there. Of what I lost. Of who I've lost.

And it is no comfort to know it's mostly my fault. I'm still trying to figure out how I could have betrayed myself that much. Why I never realized it when there was still time, and why it suddenly became so painfully obvious when I learned of his relationship with Seven.

Of all people, dear god. Seven. The joke's on me, my friend leaving me for my... protégé. Even though this is not true. It's uncalled for, it's disgusting, and disrespectful to the two people I loved most in that distant part of space. Even though I want to be happy for them.

I tried to feel it in the beginning, tried to still spend time with both of them. Tried to let crewmembers talk to me about it, tried to listen to their conversations. I've tried to regard it as something beautiful, something joyous. Then I've tried not to look at them anymore, not to think about them every time. I've failed to do any of it.

He would still be my friend, if I could let him. And Seven would still seek me out for things she wants to discuss with me. I could have been a godmother to their twins. But as things are, I had to look up their names in a message B'Elanna sent me recently. Of course I got an official announcement and a long personal letter upon their birth, but I've deleted it long ago.

He knows. And I could not endure their clearly displayed happiness nor the barely disguised pity I saw in his eyes when I listened to the message. He tried to hide it, I'm sure, but I know it is there. Yes, I used to know him very well. Or so I thought. His relationship to Seven – I never saw it coming.

Although it probably figures, I think, walking Starfleet Headquarter grounds. The party must have already started, but I don't want to be one of the first. There is no way you can avoid talking to people when there are only a few guests around. Yes, it figures. He needs someone to look out for. Someone who shows him that he's needed. And Seven – she has grown into a remarkable woman. Not afraid to admit that she needs love. Oh, I needed it too, needed love. Hell, I still need it, more than ever. But I never learnt to tell. Either of them.

And I still find myself looking for them, as I finally find the strength to walk through the doors. And unsurprisingly it still works. Even in a room as crowded as this, I will make them out within seconds. Though this time it's not too hard, really. Almost everybody is gathered around them, looking at the twins. Seven is holding one, Chakotay the other.

Nobody notices me standing at the entrance. Nobody but him. Unsurprisingly a part of him is still with me, as he has promised ten years ago. He looks up from his sons face, his eyes gracing over Seven and his daughter before he meets my eyes. He is smiling.

He is happy.


	4. The Admiral Reminisces

Chakotay,

I can almost hear your objections, but they will not stop me today.

Trust me, it will be nothing to die for you, all of you. It will be easy. And it will be selfish. Even at the age I have reached, it will be easier to die for you than continue to live my life without you, my friend.

I know you don't want me to do this, but I've never lied to you before, and I'm not lying now. Well, there's one thing I've lied about, to you as well as me, but I'm going to correct this with my death. It will be selfish and cowardly, but also honourable on a certain, very personal level. And I do believe you would have done the same for me, maybe you even have, in another time line, way back into our journey, when the slipstream attempt failed.

Do you remember how we sat in my quarters again that night, wondering if you had helped Harry turn back time? Well, it's no different now. Maybe you couldn't live with what you had done, then - I know I can't, now. And maybe you even thought you didn't want to live without me either - I know I don't want to.

Temporal Prime Directive forbids me to tell you anything about what has happened in my life, how I've come to this point. But to hell with Prime Directives, temporal or otherwise, I've already violated them all in the worst possible way by coming here, and besides, no one knows better than you that it's not the first time I've done so, and it most certainly won't be the last. There are no logical reasons behind this, no impartial higher goals, although you might think that beating the Borg is just that. But it's only a justification of my actions in the end. This is about you and me and her. As simple and as complicated as that.

If we had time to have this conversation face to face, and I asked you how you would describe our relationship after all this time, what would you say? I'm not sure how the Kathryn Janeway in your time line would respond to that question, even if she could be honest, and I'm not sure what your answer would be. But I think it's safe to assume that the answer is complicated, even though the reason behind all the ramifications we have never entangled is so remarkably simple. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

You know I never was a good storyteller. Maybe that's why I loved listening to yours so much. Yes, I have always been eloquent with words, a trait that served me well, still does. But I sadly lack and fear the deep emotions and the visions you need to tell a good story. One that may come true, just because you told it to the right person at the right time.

I have my visions, too, that you know. But they are of a different nature, less personal, always aiming for the good of my crew, my family, Starfleet, whatever. Never for me. Perhaps this is why I needed you so much, my friend, and need you still, perhaps that's part of the reason I'm here. You tried to teach me, show me, and maybe now for the first time in my life, I'm going to follow a personal dream, my own vision. And maybe, just maybe it will lead me, the younger me, back to you and your friendship.

Although you are still close. I think I have forgotten how close we were, because for so long it was just too painful to remember. And I can't even recall all that has estranged us so much in my time line. It had to do with my growing obsession to bring us home - something you couldn't share. I never forgot that you would not trade the present for a future that might not happen. But I could not see the truth in it before it was too late. And it had to do with all the unresolved feelings I refused to deal with - something you couldn't understand. And again I did not understand until it was too late.

As I said, it is complicated. Later on it was our love and loss of another woman that kept us apart, sowing sorrow and guilt that neither of us could deal with. Not anymore. And this, too, is part of the reason I'm here, and you're reading this letter. I could deal with my guilt as long as you stood by my side, and you found at least part of the peace you had lost at such an early age. But when we started to drift apart and hold it against each other, we both lost the ability to cope with it, to carry the burden and share its weight.

Maybe you cannot imagine this happening. Maybe you think of the promise you made so many years ago. I could not imagine it to happen either. And maybe that's why it did. We took too many things for granted, held on to what we thought would at least survive, but without care it didn't either, and we never looked under the bandages until it was too late.

Too little, too late. That's what it comes down to in the end. And I am not only willing to take the blame for that, no, I know I am to blame, although I also know you will most certainly disagree with me on that. The you that's reading this letter anyway. The Chakotay in my time line stopped disagreeing with me somewhere along the way. Our relationship, or at least the remains of it, was in serious jeopardy whenever we disagreed about something.

You know how much I wanted to avoid those ramifications, all the personal interferences with our command structure. Well, I succeeded in avoiding them, alright, but what I failed to see, was that in the end it had the same results. I endangered our professional relationship because of it, and I nearly terminated our friendship. I know I terminated our happiness, yours as well as mine.

We remained connected somehow through the last years of our journey, through the last years of your life back on Earth. But it was a connection sustained by sorrow and guilt. Add blame. Oh yes, and don't forget endless regrets and an all consuming shame. We could not cut the ties history had bound us in, and we could not entangle them either, setting things straight, giving both of us the chance for new beginnings.

I used to think of us as Siamese twins, writhing intertwined. Sharing parts that were vital to both of us, yet not strong enough to keep both of us alive forever. At the same time we were both fearing that a segregating surgery might kill one of us in the process. So in the end we just waited. Waited for one of us to die first, knowing very well that the other would follow sooner rather than later. As I said before, the burden has become way to heavy to be carried alone.

The day I heard that you had finally died first - lonely and unhappy, not at peace, I died, too. I died of shame and the knowledge that I was responsible for all of it. And it is ironic but not really surprising that my body once again betrayed me by living on and on. But this ends now. Has already ended when you read this letter. Then I am as dead as I have already been for too many years. As dead as our friendship that was one of the most precious things I've come to know in this life, in this galaxy. And I have seen more of it than most people.

Two lives, no make that three, and a unique and wonderful bond wasted, thrown away, because I was too afraid too deal with the complexity and the consequences of the connections among us. Because you were too unsure of my feelings for you to confront me. Gods, I must have been good at hiding them. I know I was good at pushing you away. Seeing me, the younger me, I can see right through me. But I couldn't see it back then, when I was still in her place, couldn't see it until you fell in love with Seven.

You'll probably frown now, but, yes, you did. Honestly and deeply. I have asked myself over and over again, if at least she had lived, would both of us have been alright? Would we have found a way to reestablish our friendship? But I don't have any answers. I doubt it, though. It's not that I was not happy for you and her. Happy because I saw that she could give you what you had so desperately searched for, what you needed. Where I became less and less attached to anybody in my fanatic quest to bring an end to this journey, Seven, under your guidance, embraced humanity more and more. Eager to explore the emotions I was running away from.

But nothing had prepared me for the pain that came crashing over me, nor the jealousy that was so humiliating, but nevertheless eating me up inside. Nothing had prepared me for the loneliness I felt. All those things we used to do together, you did with Seven. All the things Seven and I used to do, she did them with you. Naturally. You even tried to share your happiness with me, because you both loved me, as I you. But I found I did not have the strength, because I could not forgive myself for what I felt when I had no right to feel it. I could not forgive myself for what I knew I had become and what I could see when you both looked at me. I could not endure the regret and the sadness in both your eyes.

I know all of this has not happened yet in your time. Maybe, hopefully, never will that way. But after thirty years I still feel the shame burning deep inside, and although I know I should not be telling you any of it, it is my last wish in this life to ask your forgiveness, as I have already done by your grave. To make you understand that the main reason for what I'm doing is my attempt at recuperation. To make good on what I did to you and Seven. And whatever the change in time will bring, I pray that it will keep Seven alive, that it will see you happy and at peace.

As for the younger me - she will have to live her own life, she would not take any council anyway. I hope she will not make the same mistakes I made, but I wouldn't count on it. I'll just take away one large part of the burden I carried with me, so if she ends up alone after all, she'll be able to live with it and you'll be free to leave and let her go, knowing she can carry it.

Please don't mourn me. It was my life and my responsibility. And I know that today is a good day to die.

Look upon me with compassion if you can,  
and I hope your time will let me stay a friend,

Kathryn


End file.
